I really wonder where people get their ideas about me. As I said elsewhere, I understand how certain people who never had the chance to know the real me can think things about me. What I don't understand is how people who know me could ever believe the things they've heard... or tell the lies that they have. Not all is a lie, but is conveniently guarded to the whole truth... The best lies have enough of the truth in them to be believable...
Why can't things just be worked out? I mean, why do humans seem incapable of just telling each other (in a non-condescending/blaming way) when they have a problem with each other?
I guess my rants kinda seem the same- blaming, judging others... Often, my rants are simply me trying to work it all out- figure out where I went wrong, spout how it seems to me from my side of things, sort out and express my feelings all at once. I don't really know what else to do when stuff happens and I'm not even owed an explanation at least... I've tried to go before the people I have issues with- usually. Sometimes, I rant trying to figure out what I wanna try and say. Some people- like the one who raped me the most violently (there have been 3 so it can get confusing, I know)- I can't go to them at all and have to try and figure out how to resolve all that is within me on my own. What do you do when the people you love and once loved you don't even accept a hug or a hi and you're never even clear why? I often don't know where else to turn when there isn't proper communication between both sides... Writing is often the only therapy I am left with.
I can't change if I don't know where I'm wrong. But like I said, my frustration is that people can't be honest enough about what they think, so it's hard for me to pin-point where things went wrong... Of course, the flip-side is some are so busy sharing their side that they never take a moment to hear mine.
I think if we could see each others' side of things, the world would appear less hateful and hopeless. I think I'd be filled with less despair if I could see that everyone who hurt me didn't do it because they were just being hateful or because I'm the scum of the earth. For all I've done wrong, I know the latter isn't true. I know my own heart, but it can be easy to lose sight of that when all you ever hear is otherwise. I believe the former can't be true either. Hate might be a part of human nature, but I think in all honesty, a lot of it is simply miscommunication. I've had my share of fights with friends that when all was said and done, we end up crying in each other's arms, truly apologetic for all that was done wrong- for shouting more than listening, for hurting each other and being hurt over something entirely misconceived. Many times the truth still hurts, is still unfair, but suddenly we can understand and open up doors to forgiveness, find ways to help rather than hinder, etc. As I like to say: the truth doesn't have to be pretty, it doesn't have to be romantic, it just has to be the truth.
I am a truthseeker. I always have been. And as an artist, and a writer... well, I often seek truth with rants. Sometimes it's longing for what I know to be true to be heard. It comes across as complaints, and sometimes it is- a way to let off steam to a world who doesn't really know me or who I rant about anyway. Those who claim to be hurt by me don't seem to realize I felt hurt by them too, and I'm tired of feeling unheard and misunderstood. Even my complaints often have a dual purpose though. I don't want to just complain. I have a heart to work things out... and for things to stop being so one-sided.
Sometimes, too, I just wanna put voice to my fears or pain, either because I'm hoping someone might be able to help me or maybe I will be able to help myself. We all know how hearing something out loud can change our perspective. Sometimes hearing it aloud helps me work through what might be rational... or not. Some days I'm able to see what I said and say "ok that was dumb."
Others, I like the poetry of the pain. I think it's beautiful, and I've had the honor of being told time and again by others that expressing something encouraged them- that they were not alone, that pain can be made into beauty, to move on when things are rough because I did- whatever, I've heard a lot. And so I keep writing, hoping to somehow help.
Maybe someone who knows we're having an issue, but wouldn't hear me in person might feel safer reading my heart on the matter. I keep hoping we could come to some sort of understanding and forgiveness... I keep wishing I could hear your side and at least understand why you hate me, if not work it out altogether.
Or maybe someone I don't even know can at least learn something from my pain that might somehow spare them their own. Maybe my bad decisions can keep someone else from making the same one.
Something's gotta give...
Maybe I hope for and care too much. I firmly believe in giving everyone a chance and a voice, not just my friends. It's those who abuse the chance I turn from. Even then, I don't want to, just feel I must. I cannot love others if I cannot love myself, and if someone who does not love me keeps me from loving me... well... what else is to be done, but at least wait until I am stronger, more capable of staying firmly rooted into the truth before facing a storm?